


Love All

by starwalker42



Series: Sortis (orig. on FF.Net) [10]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwalker42/pseuds/starwalker42
Summary: Get it? It's a badminton reference. They're playing badminton.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: Sortis (orig. on FF.Net) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745140
Kudos: 16





	Love All

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING, FEBRUARY 1999

Fox Mulder is in love.

He newly realises this midway through a badminton game at the headquarters' sports hall, watching his partner wipe sweat from her forehead before tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

"Score?"

He doesn't even notice that he's been asked a question until Scully glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry?" Mulder calls over the net.

"What's your score?"

He doesn't know. Does it look like he's been paying attention?

"Three," Scully fills in for him, flashing him a grin over her shoulder before readying for the other team's serve.

She's happy today- maybe she's just as eager to skip another hour of background checks and spend time with him as he is to spend it with her. Even as he thinks this, he knows he's probably imagining things, interpreting events everything to match what he wants to believe. It wouldn't be the first time.

Mulder's paid enough attention to the game to know they're losing, probably by a considerable margin, but he doesn't really mind. The whole thing was Scully's idea, anyway, and although he'd been surprised when she suggested a game with Agent Peterson and his partner, he'd been happy to say yes- losing an hour's worth of pay is more than fair trade for spending that time with Scully.

Scully, who is one of the main reasons they're losing. She's quick to cover ground and her reflexes are just as honed as his- she would say they're better- but her height's putting them both at a disadvantage. Without heels, she really is tiny. He looks at her and imagines what it would be like to kiss her with a foot between them- would he bend over, or lift her up? He can't remember how he worked it out on the Queen Anne. Knowing Scully, she's find a way to even it out herself.

He's in love, he acknowledges, as he watched her jump to return a hit. He's fucking head over heels.

"Mulder-!"

Something fast and hard hits him right in the eye. He falls, more out of shock than anything else, hearing his racquet clatter on the ground as he covers his face. Okay, _ow_.

* * *

Dana Scully is in love. She realises this all over again as she crouches next to her complete idiot of a partner, who has just taken a shuttlecock to the face despite his frequent insistence that _I'm always paying attention, Scully, you don't give me enough credit_ … God, he can be so absurd when he wants to be.

"Mulder? You okay?"

"Yep. Yeah… just fine."

He uncovers his eye- it's red, tearing up- and tries to wave away her attentive hands. As per usual, she ignores him, taking his face in her hands and holding it to the light.

Agent Peterson calls over. "Sorry, Agent Mulder!"

Mulder mutters a few choice words before replying. "My fault, don't worry about it."

He manages to shake Scully off and gets to his feet with only a slight stagger. He doesn't bother with the racquet.

"Without waiting for a reply, he grabs his water bottle and heads towards the doors. Scully shrugs apologetically over the net before jogging after him.

"Mulder, that was rude."

"My eye stings like a bitch, Scully."

"Then let me look at it."

They stop in the corridor, and Mulder pauses, looking down at her.

"I'll sit down."

Being less than average height does have its drawbacks Mulder takes a seat on one of the chairs next to the wall and lets her stand in-between his legs so she can check his eye.

He's wearing shorts. If she moves forward just an inch, her leg will be making contact with that bulge that's becoming more and more difficult to ignore with each passing second. She'll be able to feel his heat through the thin material, feel how big he is, how solid, how damn… okay, no. Stop. Jesus, Dana, keep it together. Deep breaths.

It doesn't work. She realises that even though he's an idiot- an idiot who spaces out in the middle of a badminton game probably dreaming of aliens or jackalopes or Flukemen- he's her idiot. And, even tending to an eye injury caused by a shuttlecock he should've hit, she loves him.

Loves him like crazy.

* * *

Her eyes. They're the most beautiful thing Mulder has ever seen. They remind him of the colour of the sky above the clouds, of how the sun would glimmer on the sea all those years ago back at the Vineyard, of the world viewed underwater, gliding through weightlessness.

He sometimes wishes he could tell her this, tell her that every time he meets her eyes it's like… like a switch has been flicked, like nothing can go wrong, like the world makes sense again. But every time he's tried to tell her he's either said it wrong, or he's been interrupted, or Scully has just dismissed him.

By now, he's learnt how to stop himself from saying anything.

But that's only under normal circumstances, and right now she's looking directly into his eyes (in an entirely medicinal manner, granted) and her hair's a messy ponytail and still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in the most distracting way above him. He's actually glad for the throbbing pain; it helps him focus on his eye rather than Scully.

In theory, at least.

* * *

She tilts his head towards the light with a gentle touch, one hand under his chin and the other resting on his hair. His stubble is deliciously rough against her fingers, sending a shiver through her entire nervous system, setting it alight. When she strokes his fringe away from his eyes it's a perfect contrast, soft and warm and silky, and she has to force herself to stop before it becomes obvious she's just indulging herself.

Really, this whole charade is just self-indulgence. They both know his eye's going to be fine, but she has to check. Just in case. Because she's a medical doctor, and that's what medical doctors do- look after their patients.

That's what she tells herself as the warmth of Mulder's skin settles in her bones, as her hands find their resting place on his skull, as she tries and fails not to imagine how soft his lips would be on hers. Mulder clears his throat.

How long has she been gazing into his eyes?

* * *

"Am I going to live, doc?"

He tries to joke. Tries to pretend he didn't see… whatever it was in Scully's expression just then. Hopes it works.

"It might bruise a little, but hopefully no black eyes. Wouldn't want to be explaining that one to Kersh."

Did she even realise? Maybe he just imagined it, maybe it didn't mean anything. Or maybe she's just as good at pretending as he hopes he is. It's then he begins to question why he's pretending at all. Why doesn't he just get up, kiss her, invite her to dinner? Why doesn't he just say, 'hey, Scully, I love you'?

He knows why. Because if he says that, if he kisses her, if they let that happen, let _them_ happen… everything will change. Sometimes he wants to go back and tell her when she came back from her abduction, or when she was in hospital with cancer, because then there was less to lose. Now, he is scared, and he knows that they may've lost their chance.

But he wouldn't change a thing. She's the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's not going to take that lightly.

* * *

He gets up, and gives her that smile- the one that's not a grin or a smirk but an actual smile, one where it looks like he's about to laugh but stops before it gets there.

"I can't believe you dragged me into this, Scully."

"You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to."

It's softer than it needs to be, and it hits them at the same time. Mulder and Scully don't talk like that. They don't say things to each other with that tone. Not unless one of them is dying, or has almost died, or may never see the other again. They think it, they show it, but they don't say it. Not under normal circumstances.

Mulder catches himself. "How else could you get those high shots?"

She bites the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. Mulder sighs, a little theatrically, then shrugs.

"Back to work."

She wishes he meant the basement. One day, maybe, 'work' will come to mean that again- the two of them, flying across the country, following leads, asking questions no one else will. Takeout in motels at 11pm and unnecessary slideshows.

As she follows Mulder down to the changing rooms, she realises that if you'd told her on that first day, almost seven years ago, she would've been glad to see that door again, she would've laughed. Now she can't imagine it any other way.


End file.
